I've realized that someday, if I ever publish a novel, someone is going to walk up to my husband at a convention and ask, "so, what do you think of blah" where that's the title of my novel. And he'll stare at them blankly, and they'll be like "you haven't read it, have you?" and he'll respond that its sitting in his to-read pile.
If you think I'm exaggerating, I'm not. Kevin's comment was that he'd be telling the truth. He has yet to read my NaNo novel, and that's short. He's read my short stories lately, but that's under pressure.
I'm writing again. Really, truly, writing. I've posted a story to the Online Writing Workshop and received my first few reviews. I've been doing some reviews, as well, which has been teaching me quite a bit actually. I think I find as much value out of the reviews as out of the writing itself.
I'm working on another story -- a sort of bizarre rendition of one that I've done before. I really like how its coming out. I think I'm learning more about my writing style.
When I write YA, I tend to write a good bit more minimalistic. But when I'm working on a horror story, it starts to grow in description. Which for me is a surprise, but for some reason I find it easier to add depth in that genre. For example...
Light from the hallway slipped across the floor as the door crept open. Then the light was blocked by a huge form in the thin space between door and wall. He made a black blot in the corner of her vision as she tried to pretend she still slept. The darkness hovered there. Jolene didn't breath, trying desperately not to move until the darkness moved, slipping back into the hallway and drawing the door after it.
Thank God, he was gone.
Footsteps moved only a few feet down the hallway and stopped. Not far enough, not nearly far enough. It was twelve steps to her parents' room. Twelve steps -- almost every night she counted them as he went by after coming up the stairs. Four steps from the stairs to her own door, then twelve steps to her parents room.
And this time, he had only gone five away from her door.
That's a small excerpt from Choices, the story I'm currently working on. I'm really pleased with it so far, and I'm about 2500 words into it. I'd expect it to be about 5000 words when I'm done.
Writing is hard work. It takes time, and concentration. But I'm so glad to be doing it again.Posted by Deb Atwood at December 29, 2002 09:10 PM | TrackBack